


the art of avoidance

by DeconstructedIronhide (InsertCoolName)



Series: courting a Constructicon [5]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BV Ironhide, Background Relationships, Courting Rituals, Courtship, Developing Relationship, Dunno what else to tag, G1 Constructicons, Gen, Gift Giving, I dunno shit went down with 'Hide and 'Crusher a while ago and 'Hide's still wary about it, M/M, Other, kind of, tense friendship?, the Courtship Demands It, wasn't 'Crusher's fault though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 19:44:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15008021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertCoolName/pseuds/DeconstructedIronhide
Summary: Bonecrusher notices more than Ironhide gives him credit for. It's kind of scary....the big guy has a point, though.





	the art of avoidance

**Author's Note:**

> A 'tell me' drabble requested by and featuring @underconstructicons' Bonecrusher. Not beta read.

“Mix wants t’know why you’re avoiding him.”

Ironhide drops the shockstaff with a yelp and whirls around to face Bonecrusher. “What?”

The Constructicon is standing in the doorway of the workshop, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest and an amicable enough expression on his faceplates. He doesn’t come across as threatening, but Ironhide is all too aware that he is effectively blocking off the exit. Bonecrusher shrugs.

“He hasn’t said anything,” the mech continues, calmly watching Ironhide as he scrambles to pick the shockstaff back up. “But y’know gestalt stuff - he doesn’t need to.”

“Right.” Ironhide sets the shockstaff on the workbench, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Although even then it ain’t hard to notice.” Bonecrusher makes a face. “He’s _mopin’_. Gets this kicked turbopup look whenever one of us asks about you guys. He says everything’s alright, but… I’ve noticed that you guys don’t hang out as much.” Ironhide glances at the ‘con. Bonecrusher’s visor narrows in something like concern. “So I was just wonderin’, _is_ everything alright?”

“Of course,” Ironhide replies, frowning a little. “At least, as far as _I_ know it is.” He might not see Mixmaster much right now, but he makes sure to comm. him every now and then. They talk. Sure the conversations are kind of short, but that’s because Ironhide just isn’t good at conversation that isn’t face-to-face. And Ironhide _wants_ to see Mixmaster, he just--

“I’m not avoiding him.” Ironhide looks away, back towards the shockstaff. “I’ve just been… kind of busy.”

Much to his surprise, Bonecrusher just hums in understanding. This is… more than a little unnerving. Last time he’d been in the same room as Bonecrusher the mech had been as unsettled by him as _he_ was by Bonecrusher - a little carved city being returned to its rightful place, talks about timeline and universe fuckery that had given Ironhide a migraine for the next three nights, things that Ironhide _thinks_ he can remember when he doesn’t actually _think_ about them but once he _does_ it just makes his processors ache--

Yeah, the calm is unnerving Ironhide.

“So whatcha been working on?” Bonecrusher asks, finally strolling into the workshop. For a moment Ironhide wonders just how he’d gotten the door open in the first place, but then he remembers that he’d given Mixmaster the code back around Christmastime. If Mixmaster knows it _all_ of the Constructicons probably know it.

“Uh. Nothing much,” Ironhide mutters, fiddling with the shockstaff. This feels like a trap. “Projects I’ve been putting off - ones I’ve been meaning to sell. Don’t exactly–don’t exactly have a job here? So.”

Bonecrusher hums again, nodding. He points to the shockstaff, and Ironhide freezes. “Is that one of ‘em?” the ‘con asks. Ironhide nods hesitantly. “Can I take a look at it?”

“I wouldn’t,” Ironhide says a little too quickly. When Bonecrusher gives him a funny look he adds, “It still isn’t quite done. The current’s unstable and unpredictable. It still needs some fine-tuning.” Lies, all of it. It’s as fine-tuned as a high-performance engine on race day. Ironhide’s calibrated it, recalibrated it, and tested it multiple times - it’s perfectly stable and completely safe.

Well. As safe as any electricity-based weapon _can_ be. Safe for the wielder, at least.

“I see,” Bonecrusher drawls, still looking at Ironhide funny. His visor narrows before he looks back at the staff. “Well, it _looks_ pretty cool. All those etchings - I’m no artist, but I’ve seen enough from Scrapper to know those’re done by servo.” Another funny look; Ironhide’s nervous enough now that if he were organic he’d be sweating. “You do ‘em?”

“Uh… yes?”

“Didn’t take you for the art type.”

“I’m not.” Primus Ironhide wishes he could just. Hide the shockstaff. He stares down at it with a frown as if to will it out of existence. “Not normally, anyways. But… this was special.”

“I’ll say. You don’t put just _anyone’s_ name glyphs on somethin’ _that_ fancy.”

_Fffuck_.

“So when’re you planning on givin’ it to Mix?”

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“Uhhh…” _Never_. “I’m not sure anymore. I meant to give it to him for Christmas, but it wasn’t ready by then.” More lies. It had been functional _before_ then. “Giving it to him for Valentine’s Day felt cliche, so I just. Told myself to wait.”

“Mm.” Bonecrusher reaches out to touch to slashes that make up Mixmaster’s name, looping to circle around the top of the staff. “I think he’ll like it - _and_ that we all better watch out. Somethin’ tells me that a Mixmaster with a fancy electric stick will be interesting, to say the least.”

Ironhide gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Interesting,” he agrees. Right. He tenses when Bonecrusher finally backs off.

“So I’m not gonna ask what all this means,” the ‘con says, looking at Ironhide with an arched optic ridge. “I can see ‘s somethin’ important, and that’s all that really matters.”

Ironhide nods. It’s… pretty damn important to him.

“I will say this, though.” Bonecrusher points at Ironhide accusingly. “Stop being a little glitch and avoidin’ Mixmaster.”

“I’m not–” Bonecrusher glares. OK. Maybe he _is_ kind of avoiding Mixmaster.

“Stop it,” Bonecrusher says again. “You think I was kidding before? Kicked turbopup. _Mopin’_. This is important to him too, and you’re confusin’ the slag out of him. So get your helm outta your aft, give him the damn shockstaff, and tell him yer sorry.”

With that, Bonecrusher spins on one pede and heads for the door. Ironhide feels like he should say something, but he has no idea what. Before the Constructicon is too far out of the room, he calls out, “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

“Not if you get your aft in gear and tell him first.”


End file.
